Chapter Text
It hadn’t been Ghost’s idea. Not one bit. It was all Price, who’s friend’s kid’s friend was being kicked out of the house, for reasons Price wouldn’t say. Was nothing bad, though, the older man insisted.
The kid’s friend needed a place to stay, was willing to go anywhere. Just needed a place to land. And Price, being Price, who couldn’t see a soul in need and not help, he reached out. Offered a work-and-board situation, for however long that he needed.
He was named Johnny MacTavish, from Scotland. Freshly 20, a little bit of a delinquent, from the city. A good person, at heart, but with a ‘problem with authority’ and ‘impulsive tendencies’, as stated by Price’s friends.
Ghost didn’t think they needed the responsibility of a angsty, inexperienced punk around the farm. They already had enough to deal with.
But, Price was sure. He’d gone in the truck this morning to pick the new guy up, about a two and a half hour round trip.
Gaz and Ghost found themselves on the porch around the time Price was expected back, Gaz leaning over the railing, Ghost in his rocking chair. Ghost’s bandana was tucked under his chin as he smoked a cigarette.
They both stared at the long driveway, though Ghost a bit more subtly than the others.
He didn’t want to admit that he was a bit curious, too.
Soon, though, their waiting came to fruition, as a small dust cloud popped up in the distance, and the farm dogs started raising hell from the backyard. Gaz sprung up from his comfortable lean, excited, and whipped around to fling open the door and holler to Roach, who was upstairs, that the new guy was here.
Ghost felt the thud from upstairs in his toes. Roach probably tripped out of his bed in his hurry to scramble down. He shook his head, slightly amused, and watched the dark blue truck rumbled closer.
Ghost tossed his half-smoked cigarette to the ground and stamped it out under the steel toe of his boot. He drug the bandana back up over his nose.
Roach barreled outside as just Price wrapped the vehicle to the front of the ranch house, and Price and Johnny clambered out.
The first thing Ghost noted as Johnny walked around the front of the truck, is that his deep brown hair was… goofy. A mohawk, the sides grown out just a smidgen, the tip of the hawk flopping forward and curling in on itself slightly, while all the rest of the hair was pushed back, as if in an act of defiance. It looked soft.
Ghost huffed out of his nose.
The younger man was wearing worn combat boots, similar to the ones Ghost had when he was in the military, grey-washed jeans, and a sleeveless shirt. A grey canvas backpack slung over one shoulder, with black leather straps and bronze hardware.
Not what he’d personally wear to a ranch, but it suited the newcomer. He’d have to change it soon enough, though.
The second thing Ghost had noticed was the slight, fading bruising under Johnny’s eye. The split lip in the process of healing. An older, silver scar ripped through one of his thick brows. Wonder where those came from.
Ghost didn’t have much time to ponder the younger man, as Price, with a hand between Johnny’s shoulder blades, quickly guided them both to the main house’s porch, stopping at the second stair up to gesture at Roach and Gaz.
“Johnny, these are two of the head ranch managers here. Kyle- goes by Gaz, and Gary. Responds well enough to Roach, too.”
Roach shoved past Gaz to clap Johnny on the shoulder, pointing a thumb to the middle of his chest, puffing up proudly.
Obviously trying to assert himself as the cool guy.
“Stop with the posturing, Bug,” Gaz huffed, rolling his eyes, though his smile betrayed his annoyed tone, “we all know I’m the better manager. You just goof around all day.”
Roach stuck his tongue out at Gaz, and looked at the Scot, shaking his head and waving his hand in a ignore that guy type motion.
Johnny looked between the two, eyebrow quirked and a smirk tugging at his lips.
Price gave them both a stare. Roach huffed out a breath and rolled his eyes, but his hands stilled. Gaz shook Johnny’s hand when it was offered, and Roach did the same soon after, though the two’s eye contact was notably more … mischievous. Johnny’s grin was sharp, sly, and bright, to match Roach’s.
It was then that Price guided Johnny’s attention to Ghost, who’d risen from his rocking chair. He looked down at Johnny. There was a flash in his eyes, something the manc couldn’t place, and Johnny hid his thoughts well.
“And This- Last but not least- is that Ghost fellow I was telling you about. If you can’t find me, go find him.”
“Aye, yer a spooky bastard, ain’t ye?” Soap immediately asked, though the smile on his face wasn’t cruel. It was also the first time Ghost had heard the scot speak. His accent was thick, but his voice clear. His brown eyes shimmered with a cheeky, but sharp, air. He reached out a hand to shake, less than subtly looking Ghost up and down, before his eyes settle on the fabric of the bandana, “m’ Johnny, but they call me ‘Soap’”
Who is ‘ they ? And what kind of goofy name was Soap? Ghost made his thoughts clear by raising a brow.
Ghost, after waiting a second to let the new man squirm, accepted the hand, pumping it firmly once. The youngers hands were much smaller- softer, but not without their own callouses and roughness. Less hair on the back, too. Similar, but different.
“Ghost,” The giant repeats with a nod, “Welcome. Always so eloquent?” He grunts, dropping the other’s hand.
“Ye expected somethin’ less?” Johnny- Soap- asked easily, his grin only widening. His hands make their homes in the pockets of the grey jeans, thumbs easing into the beltloops. Johnny rocked forward on his toes, and back on his heels,
“Where’re the rest of your things, Soap?” Ghost asked, his head leaning slightly to the side in question. He ignored Johnny’s previous question.
“Just all that’s here,” He shrugged, nodding his head at the strap of his backpack, “and all that’s on my back. Didnae have much time tae pack up all my action figures and rugby posters, ye ken?”
Though Soap said it easily, there was something else to his voice. Something detatched.
Ghost nodded.
“We’ll have to get you more clothes soon. Things better suited to the ranch. Boots, normal jeans. Shirts with the arms still intact. But for now you and Roach can share. You’re built about the same,” Price says, scratching at his beard.
“What, tiny?” Gaz smirks, immediately stepping away from Roach to avoid the predictable punch that the other man tried to send his way. Gaz swung back, and Roach went to dig his fingers into the other mans coily hair.
“Would you two please act like functional adults for just a minute? Til we get Soap here settled in?” Price asked, voice suddenly weary, the hand in his beard now pinching between his heavy brows.
“Yeah, Ghost,” Gaz grinned, “Act your age, man,”
“I’m older than you both.” Ghost stated plainly, leaning his back against the siding of the house, arms across his wide chest.
“And I am the oldest, which makes me in charge here. And the fact that I write your paychecks.” Price butted in, “Which means we are going to go inside, show Johnny here the house, and then let the poor boy get some rest. He’s had a rough go of it, don’t scare him more with your roughhousing.”
Yeah, Roach started, Don’t scare him, Ghos-
Price and Ghost both glared daggers at the shorter man. Gaz and Soap barked out laughs as Roach’s hands stopped immediately, hovering in the air.
Roach crossed his arms and wandered back into the house.
Price followed, gesturing for Soap to come with. Gaz went in after the scot. Ghost was in last, shutting the door behind them all.
They’d all went to the kitchen first, through the living room, Roach reaching into the fridge to rifle for a can of soda. Price waited to start talking until Gaz had settled himself onto one of the barstools up against the island in the middle of the kitchen. Ghost took place up against the back door, looking out.
“This is the kitchen. Obviously. It’s where we cook, it’s a communal space. We sit down here most days for breakfast. Not necessarily obligated to come sit with us, but it would make your life significantly easier if you do.” Price chuckled. Roach pushed a can of orange soda into Soaps hands.
Soap nodded and popped the tab, taking a large swig, sighing thankfully as he did.
“Thanks, mate,” He nodded towards Roach, before attempting to refocus on Price. Price went to say something else, something about Ghost not bein allowed to use the stove because he burns everything- but Ghost interrupted that, swiftly, not looking at Johnny- or Price, for that matter- but instead out of the screen window of the backdoor.
“You mind dogs?” Ghost asked, suddenly and bluntly.
“Pardon?”
“Do you mind dogs.” Ghost said again, less of a question this time, “It’s hot out. Don’t want them being outside much longer.”
“Oh.” Johnny said, shaking his head, something knowing in the way he looked up at Ghost, “Nae, I dinnae mind dogs. Let ‘em in, don’t keep ‘em out on my account,”
Price narrowed his eyes at Ghost. Ghost’s eyes remained expressionless. It wasn’t that hot out, and the dogs had water and plenty of shade.
Ghost opened the door, eyes still on Price, and three furry missles tore inwards, panting in excitement.
Soap immediately dropped to his knees, smiling wide as the dogs bombarded him, noisily trying to lick his face, claws skittering on the tile floor. The man cooed and delved quickly into praising and petting and patting.
Soap looked back up at Ghost, then the other three men. Ghost nodded internally, thus far pleased by Soap’s reaction.
Didn’t mean he liked the guy, yet.
“Well? Anyone gonnae introduce me?” He asked, gathering the smallest dog into his lap, and petting another behind the ears. Ghost snapped out of his observations to answer first.
“The shepherd’s Riley. He’s mine,” Ghost said, pointing a large, gloved hand to the biggest dog, a hulking, deep rusty brown and tan and black German Shepherd. His ears were pricked forward as he curiously sniffed at Soap.
“Only listens to him, too,” Price gruffs, “Won’t sit for no one else but the big bastard,”
Soap only smiles wider, looking between the two. Somehow, Ghost and Riley looked similar. Sharp, calculating eyes, all seeing. Like they could see right through you. They probably could.
“The brown kelpie mutt is mine. Name’s Phoebe, but she responds to anything, cus her brain is made of worms.” Gaz says, his voice affectionate. Phoebe perks a little at her name, mismatched eyes dilating just a little, but the sleek, coarse-coated dog just continued to try to lick Soap to the bone, her tongue flapping out almost obnoxiously.
Soap laughed, pretty and bright, shaking his head.
“I’m sure she’s a genius in her own way,” Soap says, placing his head atop the dogs. Phoebe’s whole body wriggles, and she goes a bit cross eyed trying to stare up at Johnny. He internally grimaces … maybe not a genius in any way. He doesn’t admit that.
“In your arms is Pillow Dog.” Ghost says, gesturing loosely at the brown and black chihuahua-type, uncanny valley-esque creature making himself home in the smaller mans arms. Soap quirks a brow up at Ghost.
“Pillow Dog.” He repeats.
“Pillow, if you want.”
“Can I ask why Pillow Dog is called Pillow Dog?”
Pillow , Roach motions, If you want.
Gaz rolls his eyes.
“I dunno, can you?” Ghost drawls.
It’s Soap’s turn to roll his eyes, now. He rises from his crouch, cradling Pillow Dog carefully in his arms. Already passed out, the dog looks like the happiest, strangest creature in the world.
“That doesn’t even make sense,” Soap points out. Ghost shrugs, though his eyes soften, just a little, with a slight smile hidden behind the bandana over his face.
“You want to see where you’re staying?” Ghost grunts.
Soap nods wordlessly, adjusting the conked-out dog in his arms and the backpack strap over his shoulder. Ghost stepped out of the way, nodded to Price. The oldest man shook his head subtly, a little exasperated, but understanding. As always.
“Come on, then,” Price said, “Let’s get you and your new friend up to your room. We’ll continue the downstairs tour later.”
“Thank you, again, Price,” Soap said. His voice was like a single breath, soft and quiet.
“Don’t worry about it. Always here to help.” Price patted the other’s shoulder, hand firm and strong, but comforting. Grounding, “though, you’ll be earning your stay, at least a bit.”
“Aye, of course. I’d feel bad to not,” Johnny nodded.
The group headed through the living room, Price guiding them, into the short hall, and up the creaking wooden stairs. The other dogs followed, snaking between legs, hurrying up the stairs before the rest of them.
Pictures, photographs, posters, awards, ribbons, and random memorabilia lined the walls all throughout the house. Lots of cowboys, lots of smiling faces. Bucking bulls, ewes standing on hills. Old, creased and faded black-and-whites from newspapers. Soap wondered who put them up. What some of the pictures meant, if they meant anything. Who was in them.
At the crest of the stairs, it was more hallway, but this time L-shaped, with more hangings on the walls. Six doors he could see. Four were opened, and from what Soap could tell, one was a bathroom, two were bedrooms, one significantly more slept-in and used looking than the other, and one was an office. He didn’t know what the others were, but he assumed those were bedrooms, too.
Price took Soap to the obviously less-used bedroom.
“It’s usually the spare, but you can use it for now, as long as you want.” Price explains, as Soap takes in the place.
It was nice, with hardwood floors just like the rest of the house, and a large queen-sized standing on a rug in the middle of the wall. Tables on either side, a lamp on one, a large dresser in the corner. Thick, multicolored, grandma style quilt folded across the foot of the bed, draping over the frame. Door on the wall, cracked open just barely. There was a whole en-suite bathroom! Soap had never had such a thing.
Light filtered gently in through a large, four-pane window, curtains pushed to the left side.
The room looked comfortable and empty at the same time, the beams of light invading it obstructed by nothing.
Soap stepped in. He looked around. It had that new-empty smell. He wanted to make it something more familiar. More him.
He looked over his shoulder at Price, and Roach and Gaz, who had crammed themselves in the doorway too. Looked at Ghost as well, who stood a ways back. He was tall enough to see over all of the other’s heads easily. Tall bastard.
Johnny stepped towards the bed, a hand on his backpack, and looked over his shoulder at the men standing in the doorway.
Price nodded, and Johnny set his backpack on it, watching it sink slightly into the covers. Careful of Pillow Dog, still cradled in his arms, he sat next to the bag, on the bed. He leaned back, and let out perhaps the heaviest sigh known to man. It may have weighed a thousand kilos. It felt good to get out of his lungs.
“Thank you, Price,” Soap said again, and the man hummed.
The other men drifted away from the door- Soap’s door- Price calling over his shoulder for Johnny to get unpacked, and to come back out whenever he was ready, and to let them know if he needed anything.
“Welcome to 141 Acre Ranch, Johnny.” Price said. Pillow Dog licked his chin.